The Next Psychic
by KeepHoping
Summary: As Steve Spencer, son of Santa Barbara's own psychic detective, works his first case, he realizes that, despite how his dad makes it look, detective work is not all fun and games. With the help of his new, mysterious friend Autumn he must pass himself off as chef in order to investigate a suspected serial killer. But when he becomes the next target can Autumn save him in time?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

This story will not contain swearing, smut, or slash. I won't write any sexual scenes or imply that an unmarried couple is sleeping together. If I ever receive any reviews with swearing I will read and then delete them. I don't care how interesting or flattering they are. If I receive a long message with lots of swearing, I might not even finish it. I'm sorry if this offends anyone.

That being said, I obviously hope to get lots of reviews. If anyone notices an error or inconsistency please let me know so I can correct my mistakes. This story is not fully written so if anyone has any story ideas go ahead and share them.

I intend to update every Friday, but I apologize in advance for if I miss an update. If I know in advance that I will miss an update I will let the readers know. It might take me a while but I guarantee that I will not abandon this story.

-KeepHoping

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Chapter One

As I waited for the light to turn green, I could practically feel everyone looking at me. Their judgement would have bothered me if I didn't know that I would be giving someone the same looks if they were dressed like I was. Stupid uniform. Dad probably gave me this assignment just so he could laugh at how ridiculous I look. At least I had decided to wait to put the hat on until I arrived.

Finally the light changed colors. I turned left, thinking about my destination: the Santa Barbara Culinary Institute. When I first started researching it I had wondered why there weren't a lot of students. Now that I was in the stupid uniform I get it. No one in their right mind would attend this place. If the instructors looked anything like the students, then I wouldn't be surprised if one had turned to murder.

Who am I kidding? Chef Andrew wasn't the serial killer. I doubt he's even really a suspect. So what if he fit the description and was seen near the one of the bodies. The other suspects had all been seen multiple times in suspicious areas.

I knew that Mom and Dad just wanted to protect me, but this was my first case. I finally turn eighteen and the first thing they do is send me on a wild goose chase. They hadn't even let me see the pictures of the victims. I had to sneak a look. A look which I regret taking, but that's beside the point. I mean, if I wanted to officially join Psych, then I had to get used to this kind of stuff.

As I spotted my destination in the distance, I thought about what I knew about the case. There had been nine victims so far. All dead in the past year. All teenagers between fifteen and eighteen years old. All homeless or runaways. All slowly strangled or starved to death. All deposited in random dumpsters after their deaths. I couldn't even begin to imagine the pain those kids were in before they died. And it had been getting worse. The first victim had died of strangulation after eleven days. The most recent had died of starvation, meaning that he had suffered for a month. Whoever was doing this had learned how to draw it out.

I cleared my head of the dark thoughts as I parked. I couldn't let my anger about this case show, just in case Chef Andrew really was the murderer.

There was girl looking for something in the trunk of the car next to me. Wow. That trunk makes my closet look clean. Noticing the smirk on her face, I decided to mess with her head a little.

"Actually, you'll be seeing me every day." I commented with a grin as I took off my helmet. "That _is_ what you were thinking, right? That I'm not a normal sight." I said as innocently as I could.

"Can you blame me?" she asked, causing me to chuckle. Oh, I liked this girl already. I took a moment to look at her. She was obviously part of the baking program. She had been baking something this morning. She had a bit of dough in hair.

"I don't suppose there was any pineapple in whatever you baked this morning?" I inquired. She shook her head. "Oh, right. It was pumpkin. I was close though, they both start with the letter P. Let me guess, pie?"

"Mini tarts, actually." How was I supposed to know the difference between tart and pie dough! "But they were mini pumpkin pie tarts." As I glanced into the trunk of her car, I saw exactly what I needed to psych her out.

"Did you bring any of these mini pumpkin pie tarts, Fall?" I brought my hand to my head with a look of concentration. "No. That's not right. _Autumn_. Did you bring any mini pumpkin pie tarts, Autumn?" I patiently awaited her questions. 'Do we know each other?' 'How do you know that?' I'll never forget the one lady who slapped me for stalking her.

"Yes, would you like one?" she offered. I tried to cover my shock. What was wrong with this girl? Was she so oblivious that she's not even noticing? Or is that just what she _wants_ me to think?

"Absolutely." Of course I wanted a mini pumpkin pie tart! "By the way, are you insomniac or do you just get up crazy early in the A.M. every morning to bake?" I asked as I took a tart. And just to make sure she didn't ignore my 'abilities', I added, "Sorry if that was inappropriate, but the spirits are sensing that you haven't been getting enough sleep."

"Spirits?" she inquired, her voice thick with doubt and, oddly enough, a trace of disappointment.

"Yeah. Spirits. See, I'm psychic." As soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to facepalm. I'm supposed to be undercover and here I am bragging to the first person I meet about how I'm psychic. Idiot! I ate a tart to cover my regret and momentarily forgot my problems. This girl could bake.

"No, you're not." she responded.

Know-it-all.

"Well how else do you explain how I knew all that?" I asked. Now come the stalking accusations.

"You knew I baked something because I have pastry dough under my finger nails. You could tell it had pumpkin in it because I accidentally smeared some on my sleeve. I have an envelope in my trunk addressed to Autumn. I know how exhausted I look. And to answer your question, I am both insomniac and an early morning baker." she listed, barely pausing for breath.

She was right. She was absolutely right. Not that I was about admit it, but still.

"Huh, well apparently I didn't even need the spirits to figure that stuff out. These are delicious." I responded honestly as I grabbed another tart. What number was it? Four, five? Who cares.

"How about I take a turn being psychic?" she asked with an annoyingly innocent smile. Is this how people feel around me all the time? No wonder I don't have any friends.

I nodded. "Go right ahead. But I have to warn you, the spirits aren't very helpful to nonbelievers."

She brought her hand to her temples, mocking my earlier motion. "I sense that you have at least two cats. Wait, no. They aren't yours. They belong to someone else in your household. In fact, you don't like them, but they like you." Correct so far. She was describing Mom's cats perfectly. "You're an only child named… Steve. Steve Spencer."

"Wrong! My name's Ethan Anderson." I insisted. How the heck does she know that? No wonder I got the safest case. Apparently, I was horrible undercover.

"Then why does your motorcycle say Steve Spencer?" she asked sarcastically, pointing to the side of my motorcycle, where the words were painted. I suddenly had the urge to start banging my head on the nearest wall. Instead I started searching for my 'normal is for cowards' decal.

"Because I bought it used. I had a sticker covering it." I tried to explain. "Great! It's gone. What am I gonna do now?" I sighed. Maybe I could go park in one of the neighboring parking lots and hope this annoyingly observant girl didn't start pestering me about it.

"I have a decal in the black hole, if you want it." she offered. Despite my frustration at myself and my relief at a simple solution I couldn't help but smile.

"I suppose you mean the disaster area that is your trunk?"

"Yep." she replied before pulling out a decal that said, 'I'm a bookworm and proud of it'. "You can have it on one condition: you tell me why you're using an alias and if it pertains to your dad's psychic detective agency." I can't decide whether I should hate this girl or admire her. I'll probably end up doing both.

"First of all, this sticker is just sad and embarrassing." I stalled while weighing what I should tell her. I honestly didn't see any harm in telling her the truth. In fact, she might actually wind up being helpful. "Second of all—Second—Secondly— _Next_ , yes, I'm here on a case. You can't tell anyone." I said sticking the decal on over my name. "We have reason to believe that one of the instructors here is a serial killer."

"A serial killer? And your dad is okay with you putting yourself in danger by coming here?" she asked, surprised. I had expected her to be shocked by the fact that a serial killer might be teaching her, but instead she sounded disappointed with my dad for putting me in danger.

"No, there are four suspects. My dad gave me the least likely option, but there's still a chance that he might be the bad guy." I told her to my chagrin and her relief.

"Can you even cook?" she abruptly changed the topic.

"Yes! Maybe. A little. But this a school! They're supposed to teach; if you already knew everything you wouldn't be here." I stated in my defense.

"They probably expect you to know the basics. Just please tell me you aren't one of those idiots who can't even boil water properly." she joked, smiling.

"That was one time!"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: I know that this chapter isn't as strong as the first, so please let me know your thoughts on it. Also, there is a chance that I might not be able to update next week. I hope that I can, but I just wanted to warn you in case I can't. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

-KeepHoping

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Chapter 2

"Autumn, only you would get here an hour early," I muttered to myself as I parked the car. I turned the car off and took a long look at the building I had driven to. I still couldn't believe that I was going to the Santa Barbara Culinary Institute. Today was my first day. The first step towards my lifelong goal of owning a bakery. I took a deep breath as I got out of the car. It was a good thing that I had thought to leave a book in the trunk of my car in case I had time to kill.

As I was rummaging through the trunk of my car, also known as the black hole, a motorcycle pulled in next to my car. I failed horribly at hiding my smirk at the young man driving. Although in my defense, it's not often you see a man in a chef's uniform on a motorcycle.

"Actually, you'll be seeing me every day," the driver said after taking off his helmet. He wasn't even trying to hide his grin. "That is what you were thinking, right?" he inquired innocently. "That I'm not a normal sight."

"Can you blame me?" I responded, drawing a chuckle from the man who was apparently my classmate. He looked to be about a year older than me, around eighteen years old. He had brown hair and eyes and was approximately six feet tall, nearly a foot taller than my petite five-foot frame.

"I don't suppose there was any pineapple in whatever you baked this morning?" he asked. I kept my face neutral as I shook my head. "Oh, right. It was pumpkin. I was close though, they both start with the letter P." Okay, now I was impressed. "Let me guess, pie?" If possible, his grin grew even larger.

"Mini tarts, actually." I answered, smirking. "But they were mini pumpkin pie tarts."

"Well, did you bring any of these mini pumpkin pie tarts, Fall?" He put his hand to his temple. "No. That's not right. Autumn. Did you bring any mini pumpkin pie tarts, Autumn?" I kept the smile on my face.

"Yes, would you like one?" I offered, totally ignoring his use of my name. For the first time since he got off his motorcycle, he looked surprised.

"Absolutely. By the way, are you insomniac or do you just get up crazy early in the A.M. every morning to bake?" he asked as I handed him the container of tarts. "Sorry if that was inappropriate, but the spirits are sensing that you haven't been getting enough sleep."

"Spirits?" I asked with obvious skepticism.

"Yeah. Spirits. See, I'm psychic." he replied before eating a tart.

"No, you're not." I stated matter-of-factly.

"Well how else do you explain how I knew all that?" he questioned, obviously expecting me to be unable to answer.

"You knew I baked something because I have pastry dough under my finger nails. You could tell it had pumpkin in it because I accidentally smeared some on my sleeve. I have an envelope in my trunk addressed to Autumn." I continued, pointing the letter out. "I know how exhausted I look. And to answer your question, I am both insomniac and an early morning baker."

"Huh, well apparently I didn't even need the spirits to figure that stuff out. These are delicious." he said as he grabbed a fourth tart out of the container.

"How about I take a turn being psychic?"

He nodded his assent. "Go right ahead. But I have to warn you, the spirits aren't very helpful to nonbelievers."

I brought my hand to my temple like he had earlier. "I sense that you have at least two cats. Wait, no. They aren't yours. They belong to someone else in your household. In fact, you don't like them, but they like you. You're an only child named… Steve. Steve Spencer."

"Wrong! My name's Ethan Anderson." he corrected almost desperately.

"Then why does your motorcycle say Steve Spencer?" I asked pointing to the side of the motorcycle, where the words were painted. He paled when he saw them, then started looking on the ground nearby.

"Because I bought it used. I had a sticker covering it." he explained quickly. "Great! It's gone. What am I gonna do now?" he sighed heavily.

"I have a decal in the black hole, if you want it." I offered.

"I suppose you mean the disaster area that is your trunk?" he joked with a tense smile.

"Yep." I replied before pulling out a decal that said, 'I'm a bookworm and proud of it'. "You can have it on one condition: you tell me why you're using an alias and if it pertains to your dad's psychic detective agency."

"First of all, this sticker is just sad and embarrassing. Second of all—Second—Secondly—Next, yes, I'm here on a case. You can't tell anyone." he said before sticking the decal on over the name. "We have reason to believe that one of the instructors here is a serial killer."

"A serial killer? And your dad is okay with you putting yourself in danger by coming here?" I asked in shock.

"No, there are four suspects. My dad gave me the least likely option, but there's still a chance that he might be the bad guy."

"Can you even cook?" I wondered aloud.

"Yes! Maybe. A little. But this a school! They're supposed to teach, if you already knew everything you wouldn't be here." he defended himself.

"They probably expect you to know the basics. Just please tell me you aren't one of those idiots who can't even boil water properly." I joked with a smile.

"That was one time!"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sorry that I updated in a while. My life has been crazy. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I recently realized that I have not been giving credit to my amazing beta, cosette141.

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Chapter 3

Steve's POV

"So how did you know the stuff about my mom's cats? Are you sure you're not psychic like me?" I asked. We had been talking for about thirty minutes now, still standing in the parking lot. She had been telling me about some of the basics I'll need to know for class. I don't even know why she's here. She already knows everything.

She leaned back against her car and gave me a look. "I'm not psychic and neither are you. You're just highly observant and happen to have an eidetic memory. And your family's probably been training you to use that memory since you were a kid." she stated, as though she were stating facts instead of making guesses.

"Yeah. I always wanted to learn how to—" What is wrong with me?! I'm not supposed to admit to that! "Uh, I mean— well, I'm— You can't tell anyone! No one's supposed to know that. I don't know why I said anything. I'm such an idiot." Dad can never know about this conversation or I will never, ever be involved in another case again. He didn't even tell Mom until years after they met.

"You're not an idiot, Steve." She frowned in concern. "Besides telling me doesn't even count. I already knew. Nothing you could have said would have changed that." she responded, trying to console me.

"How _did_ you know?" I inquired. "And don't try to duck the question." I insisted when I saw her face. "I just told you a big secret so the least you can do is tell me what made you so sure." I could see my logic winning her over.

"Someone told me a long time ago. That's all I'm gonna say about it. It'll just have to remain a mystery." I could tell that she had carefully chosen those words to reveal the least information possible, but at least it was something. I decided to stop pressing and wait for the right moment to continue questioning her.

"Then it's a good thing solving mysteries is my specialty." I cockily replied leaning back against the car before taking another tart.

"I thought this was your first case. And it's been such a success so far." She shot back, just as cheekily.

"Ah, I'm hurt." I cried clutching my heart in mock agony, making Autumn laugh.

"Seriously, though, I think I should know which of my instructors might be a serial killer. How many people did he kill?" she asked quietly. I could tell that she was already starting to empathize with the victims. No way am I telling her how much they suffered.

"Okay, first thing is that there is very little chance that this is the guy. He's barely even a suspect. His name's Chef Andrew and you don't need to treat him any different, just don't go off alone with him. Besides you're not in any danger. The only victims have been boys." I told her to set her at ease.

She stared at me for a second too shocked to speak. She finally regained her voice. "They were kids! How many?" she exclaimed in horror. So much for setting her at ease. Apparently it's not _undercover_ I'm horrible at, it's human interaction.

"Teenagers. Nine teenagers." I answered quietly, trying not to let my anger with this killer show on my face.

"Nine? How—" She started to ask me something else, but a car pulled into the parking lot. As the car parked, her expression transformed from one of sorrow and horror into one of delight. "I think you ate a least a dozen tarts. You said you like pineapple? I'll try to make something with that soon."

A man in his late twenties climbed out of the car. "Hey, I'm Bruce. Are you two students here?"

"Yeah, I'm Autumn and this is Ethan. Are you taking the baking or the savory concentration?" She asked with a bright smile. It was amazing how she managed to flip herself around so completely. She even went from calling me Steve to Ethan. Definitely a good choice for a confidante.

"Baking. What about you guys?" h e inquired.

"We're both taking baking, too." I answered, thinking that it was about time I said something.

"Would you like a mini pumpkin pie tart?" Autumn offered, taking the container of baked deliciousness from me. "Ethan! There were two and a half dozen tarts in here!"

"And?" I asked innocently.

"There are five left!" she cried in shock. Bruce was covering his mouth and trying very hard not to laugh.

I shrugged. "I skipped breakfast?" I said, more as a question than anything else. Bruce lost it. He was laughing so hard that he was having trouble catching a breath.

"So how long have you two been going out?" he asked as he grabbed a tart.

"No! We aren't—we've never—she—uhh" I stammered, to both Autumn and Bruce's amusement.

"We actually just met this morning. We both got here about half an hour ago." Autumn calmly replied. "We were just about to head inside."

"Oh. Sorry, you just seemed—Sorry. I'm still learning to think before I speak." He apologized as he handed back the container. "The tart was delicious. I can see why he ate so many."

"Thank you. Good thing you showed up when you did or there wouldn't have been any left." She joked.

"It's not my fault they taste so good!" I defended myself. Honestly, though, she might be right. It's a good thing she took them away or I might have finished them off.

"Let's head in. Ethan, we can finish our conversation later." She told me. She is not gonna let this serial killer thing go. At least I get a little bit of time to think about what I should tell her.


End file.
